


La Petite Mort

by purple_bookcover



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: 69, Anal Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, incest i guess but lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27009271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Sleep and Death are meant to be separate. When they come together, the whole universe feels the echoes of it. They know they shouldn't, yet Thanatos and Hypnos keep finding themselves coming back to this, flinging themselves together, indulging in each other, creating that little death even the mortals above know.
Relationships: Hypnos/Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 123





	La Petite Mort

**Author's Note:**

> My friend knows more about mythology than me and noted that the relationships between gods generally served a symbolic purpose. That made me wonder what the intersection of Death and Sleep was and what might happen if you combined those concepts. 
> 
> This fic is more than adequately tagged. If you find the subject matter upsetting, please move along.

Thanatos slams Hypnos against a wall, pinning his slender arms over his head. Entire worlds tremble from the force of that impact. Entire realities slide and grate as Thanatos’s mouth finds Hypnos’s.

Hypnos moans from the pressure of those lips. Thanatos has a way of being excessive at times like this. His grip is a little too tight on Hypnos’s slim wrists. His body is a little too looming. His mouth is a little too hot. But it is only in these sorts of moments that Thanatos gets like this, so Hypnos stays trapped between his body and the wall and kisses him back, welcomes his tongue into his mouth, grinds his hips at the vanishing space between them.

In an existence that is literally endless, there are not many moments that stand out, but this is among them, a bright, molten drop of gold among endless night sky. 

Thanatos finally relents. They’re both panting when they part. Hypnos’s arms remain trapped over his head. Thanatos’s eyes are also molten in the gloom of the chamber. 

Hynpos always keeps his personal quarters dark. There are pillows and blankets and fluffy, downy mattresses everywhere. It is a temple of sleep, though they will not be sleeping for quite some time, not if the look burning in Thanatos’s golden eyes is any indication. 

He releases Hypnos’s wrists, but it is only so he can scoop him up. Hypnos wraps his legs around Thanatos as Death carries him away, stumbling a few steps until they fall into bedding like clouds. They don’t need to fall. There’s just something nice about the tumble and tumult of it all. It feels right, as right as anything can feel when they occasionally subvert their very natures like this. 

Sleep and Death. They should be silent and solitary. They should creep through dark places and bring a hush to everything they touch. Yet as clothing falls aside and skin meets skin, Thanatos’s rasping breath grates against the stillness and the whole world shudders. 

Hypnos is on his back now. He watches as Thanatos gets the last of his armor and clothing off. Funny, that death itself would wear armor. He’s really such a delicate creature. Mortals think him something worth fearing, but Hypnos cannot imagine being afraid of a being like Thanatos with his cautious hands and quiet kisses. 

Those quiet kisses trail down Hypnos’s body now, soft as the wings of the black butterflies Thanatos likes to keep around. He pauses at Hypnos’s hips, hands on his thighs, golden eyes looking up the length of Hypnos’s body in question. 

Normally, he’d nod, but Hypnos has an appetite for disruption today. 

“Turn around,” Hypnos says. 

Thanatos scrambles. The room goes even darker when Thanatos is perched over Hypnos, who reaches for his cock and angles it toward his mouth. 

Thanatos lowers, both so Hypnos can take him deeper and so he can slide his lips down Hypnos’s cock. Hypnos can feel muscles tensing as Thanatos holds himself up. 

This is the moment when every plane and reality slots into place like clasped fingers. This is the moment when mortals gasp from some sensation they can not comprehend, hairs standing up on the backs of necks. Hypnos feels the grind and pressure of it as clearly as he feels Thanatos’s hot, wet mouth closing around his cock. He moans as they unpluck the tenuous fabric of multiple realms. Death and Sleep, better kept separate, better left in the dark, for when they meet like this entire worlds die with them. 

Thanatos pulls up off Hypnos’s cock. He’s grumbling and growling as he climbs off Hypnos and Hypnos has to chew at his lip to keep from smiling. It’s so much better when he gets like this, when Death arrives turbulent and hungry, destructive rather than pacifying. 

He faces Hypnos now. He’s working at his remaining clothing like they don’t have an eternity before them, like everything is urgent and important. Hypnos gasps when slicked up fingers scissor into him, rough and rushed, but his body can take it. His body can take anything, at least, that’s what he hopes because Thanatos seems intent on testing their immortality today. 

Thanatos yanks one of Hypnos’s legs up so his ankle rests on Thanatos’s shoulder. Than’s fingers are still pumping, still coaxing Hypnos open. 

“Than-Than,” he gasps. 

“Shut up,” Thanatos says. 

Hypnos laughs. 

It has the desired effect. Thanatos gets even more annoyed, pulling his fingers free without grace. 

“You find this amusing?” Thanatos says. 

“I always find you amusing, Than-Than,” Hypnos says. 

And oh, how the gold in Thanatos’s eyes gleams and glints, like the deadly edges of all those weapons Zagreus is so very fond of. Like Zagreus’s weapons, though, it is utterly feckless. Hypnos does not fear Death. He does not regret goading him. He trembles, but not because he thinks the sharp edges of Thanatos will actually cut him. 

Thanatos hitches closer, grips Hypnos’s elevated thigh in one hand, his ankle in the other so he can wield him like a toy. Hypnos lets Thanatos tug him around, repositioning until he’s satisfied. Thanatos can be so irritatingly precise, but Hypnos is patient. They have nothing but time, endless time. 

Finally, Thanatos lines up his cock against Hypnos’s aching entrance, still slick from his fingers. Hypnos could make it easy on himself – he is a god, after all – but where’s the fun in that? Instead, he grits his teeth and tenses as Thanatos shoves into him. He clenches, making Thanatos work for it, making him grind between tight walls to get inside Hypnos. 

Hypnos arches when Thanatos bottoms out. He squirms on his cock, head tilting back, soft white curls mussing against the pillows and blankets and cushions beneath him. 

Thanatos grumbles like a stormcloud, like an animal growling at prey, before moving a hand to Hypnos’s hip to pin him down. Hypnos can still writhe and wriggle, but he cannot get far, not with that powerful hand holding him in place so Thanatos can take his pleasure. 

And he will take it. Hypnos knows just how much he’ll take even before Thanatos shifts back to start pounding into Hypnos’s ass. 

Thanatos is never gentle, not at times like this. Hypnos likes to imagine he’s a bit gentler about actual death. But this type of death, this type of surrender – it is a thing Thanatos can only do at full force. 

Hypnos jolts atop the bedding as Thanatos rams into him, each thrust somehow harder than the one before it. The leg hooked over Thanatos’s shoulder has to bend farther as Thanatos leans forward, planting his hands on either side of Hypnos to gain yet more leverage. 

Hypnos slings his other leg over Thanatos’s hips, trying to tug him closer with each thrust. It’s more effort than he normally puts into this, or anything else, for that matter, but there is something about this that upends both their natures. Death and Sleep, meant to be kept separate, but so sweet when taken together, so terrible and overwhelming. The worlds around them shiver in the reverberations every time Thanatos slams into Hypnos, skin slapping against skin, flesh quivering from impact, heat boiling its way up Hypnos’s body until it threatens to overflow. 

He tilts his head back even farther, trying to moan out the pressure, trying to release some of the heat clogging up his throat. But Thanatos grabs those soft white curls and leans all the way forward, covering Hypnos’s mouth with his own, drinking down the warmth welling up Hypnos’s throat, jabbing his tongue into Hypnos’s mouth to invade him everywhere he can. Death overcoming Sleep, Death defeating Sleep. Or perhaps it’s Death who’s defeated, for Hypnos feels more awake, more alive, than at any other time in his drowsy, dreary existence.

Thanatos tears his mouth free to moan. Hypnos knows that sound. He knows the hitch of Thanatos’s body, the desperate stutter of his hips, the clawing grip of his hand. He clenches again, tighter than before, holding Thanatos close, so close, as close as he can get him. There is no difference anymore. Death and Sleep are one and the same, the realms they rule overlapping and intertwining like their entangled bodies. 

Hypnos reaches for his own cock, pumping in rapid strokes. Thanatos slaps his hand away, stroking Hypnos himself. 

Hypnos arches into the feeling, his body trembling, the heat drowning him from the inside out. His throat is so full he can’t manage more than broken whimpers. His ass burns, squeezing around Thanatos’s cock to drag out every second of aching, grinding pleasure. 

“Gods,” Thanatos rasps. 

It would be funny, if Hypnos could manage to laugh just then, but that’s impossible with Thanatos slamming him so hard Hypnos can feel his cock all the way up to his throat.

“T-Than,” he pleads. 

Even gods can only take so much. 

Thanatos jerks his hips, a few last furtive pumps, and the heat spikes higher as warmth fills Hypnos. Thanatos dutifully keeps stroking him and Hypnos soon follows. The crash unclogs his throat so he can cry out at the ceiling, writhing on Thanatos’s cock as he comes over his hand. 

Entire worlds shatter. Mortals scream and weep. A thousand little deaths are suffered ecstatically in the moment when Death fills Sleep with his seed. The wrongness echoes through planes, echoes all the way up to Olympus, but there is nothing even gods can do about it. 

The little death, a space between sleep and death, between living and dying, between pleasure and pain – it belongs to Hypnos and Thanatos and not even Zeus himself can take it away.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


End file.
